Never Fade
by screw-reason-give-me-anime
Summary: Last companion fic to 'Ever After' and 'The Cross'. France, while swimming with Italy notices his old scars, complied with the new ones from a few weeks ago, he believes that Germany has been doing a bit of BSMD. He jumps headfirst into matchmaking, trying to convince the other nations that l'amour is present. Will he succeed? Could be seen as light Gerita.


**A/N: To the guest who requested Gerita. I must inform you that this is probably my least favorite one in the series. I don't really ship it too much; but nevertheless, I hope I've done the pairing justice and you enjoy it.**

Germany!" Italy whined pulling on the taller man's arm. "Germany," he whined some more, shooting his friend large puppy dog eyes. "Swim with me, come on," he pulled the blond to the pool and pushed him in, surprising the surrounding nations with his strength.

France raised a perfect eyebrow from behind his magazine. He hummed softly, thinking before he let a small smirk crawl to his lips.

Italy was giggling cheerfully as Germany practically drowned the auburn haired man in chorine water. "Germany!" he squealed bating back weakly.

France's eyes narrowed skillfully as he watched Italy's back, glinting with water and pale white scars. He smirked again.

"Mon cher," France purred as he approached the two, who had, for a moment, stopped their game.

"Ve?" Italy looked up innocently, big brown eyes focused on him. "Big Brother France? What's the matter?"

"Notzing, mon petite cher, I only want to talk to Germany for a moment."

"Okay!" Italy smiled and turned his gaze to Germany. "See you in a moment, Germany!" Italy leaned closer and closing his eyes, kissed Germany quickly and briefly on the cheeks. "Ciao,!" he said waving as the blushing German climbed out of the pool.

"Vhat do you vant?" Germany asked gruffly as he stood and walked beside the French Nation, water dripping off him.

"Ah, Germany," France said cheerfully. "L'amour is amazing, is it not?"

"Ah, vhat?" Germany asked, shooting the man a look.

"L'amour, it is a very special feeling, is it not?" France raised a perfect eyebrow and grinned at the confused man before him.

"Oh," Germany deadpanned, catching on almost immediately. "You think that Italy und I are together."

"Zhink?" France asked dramatically. "I know," he paused, and leaned closer to the German man. "You 'ave left your marks, your claim, very clearly."

"Exactly vhat are you talking about?" Germany asked, flushing a bright tomato red.

"The scars, mon cher, you 'ave claimed 'im. Very nice if I may say so myself.'

Germany rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to punch the French Nation of 'l'amour' in the nose. "Look," he said frowning, "you need to stop zhis. You are being an idiot. Besides," Germany gave a very coy smile. "If you don't leave us alone, I'll tell Romano that you've been pairing his baby brother with me and then you'll really be sorry."

France smiled. "You'll come to see it my way, eventually."

Germany narrowed his eyes disdainfully "Shut up," he sighed and turned away from the scheming nation.

France smiled and sauntered back to his umbrella covered chair. He picked up his magazine and used it to observe Italy and Germnay with smiling eyes.

Surprisingly, or not, depending on how one looks at it, Romano was once again the one who put a stop to France's matchmaking. He corned the nation of l'amour a few days later.

"Listen Frog," Romano spat loudly. "That Potato Bastard friend of my brother's told me you were stalking them. As much as I hate him; I hate you more. I know what you're doing-"

"What am I doing?" France asked innocently.

"Don't play stupid! Che palle! You bastardo!" Romano said. "You've made this your stupid little hobby, haven't you? Pairing us up? You've paired me with my brother, which is gross, by the way. And you paired me with Spain; what were you thinking? But worse of all you paired mio fratello with that Potato Bastard. I won't stand for it! You mind your own business before I make sure you'll never see anything again. Capisce?

France nodded, apparently understanding the dangerous flash in Romano's golden eyes. He also knew that while Romano was rather cowardly and peace-oriented, when it came to his brother or even Spain, although he'd deny it; he wouldn't think twice about sending the mafia after whoever hurt his family.

"Oui, oui, no need to be so violent. It was just a thought."

Romano narrowed his eyes. "You better, stupido," his lips twitched into a small slightly creepy smile and he turned away from France, walking away to the covers of the shadow. "Remember France, or my friends will visit."

France felt chills race up his spine and he shuttered. Maybe he would have to find a less dangerous hobby.

* * *

"England, ma cheri, it's true!" France said as he looked at the man in front of him.

England sighed again. He didn't know much about either half of Italy. But he was pretty sure Italy wasn't in a relationship with Germany. Not only was Italy really, really, ridiculously innocent; he was also always flirting with girls. Besides that, on a completely different note; claiming that Italy wasn't with Germany would go against what France was saying, which was something England loved doing at any time possible. "No," he answered shortly. "He's not," with that, the English Nation turned around and back to his paperwork.

France sighed dramatically and turned to the door. "He is!" the French Nation exclaimed as he slammed the door behind him. France passed a door that was closed. Voices jumped out at him and France allowed a smirk to crawl to his lips.

"Please Germany!" Italy begged. "Please, put it there!"

"Here, like zhis?" Germany answered, laughter in his voice.

"Si prega di Germania, sai cosa voglio dire, messo lì; non essere una presa in giro!" Italy complained. **(Please Germany, you know what I mean; don't be a tease!)**

** "**Aber Italien, wissen Sie, ich bin nur mit dir spielen. Ich setzte es, wo Sie es wollen," Germany said with a sigh. **(** **But Italy, you know, I'm just playing with you. I'll put it where you want it.)**He grunted. "Zhere I hope you're happy,"

"Ve! Grazie!" Italy said cheerfully.

France rolled his eyes and passed by.

Inside the room, something very different was happening.

"Thank you for getting the pasta down; I couldn't reach," Italy said as he turned to the stove. "I'm not sure why you had to taunt me a bit first though," he pouted.

"If you didn't eat pasta all zhe time you might not mind training so much. I'm trying to help you!" Germany protested as he watched his best friend cook.

"Alright, but you knew I couldn't reach it where you put it the first time; I'm too short," Italy said nonchalantly.

German any smiled slightly at his friend. "Alvight," he agreed. "I did know."

Neither of them realized what 'proof' they had just given France.

* * *

Sadly for the French Nation; an older brother did.

"No! I swear I did make it up! Zhey vere doing zit!" France cried as two men aproched.

They looked over their shoulders waiting for an answer.


End file.
